


your eyes look like coming home

by tessavirtch



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Married Life, Rating will change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2019-11-21 20:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18146936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tessavirtch/pseuds/tessavirtch
Summary: The 17th of every month for a year.





	1. january

**Author's Note:**

> some things you should know (and you will learn this as you read, but if you want to know what the verse is BEFORE you get into it, here you go):  
> * t & s are married (have been for about a year and a half at the beginning)  
> * tessa is in the last semester of her MBA program  
> * scott is a coach
> 
> these will not be 100% related; there might be some references to past chapters later on but you can probably treat them all as standalone oneshots for the most part, so if one doesn't seem interesting to you you can just skip it! that's a-okay! but there will be a recurring character introduced in chapter 2/february, fyi
> 
> thank you heather for helping me pick a title thus saving me from losing my mind, and idella for beta reading and pep talking (all the time, lots and lots of pep talking, i am very sorry), and úna just because!!!
> 
> enjoy ❤️

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Scott absolutely _does_ know, but is clearly choosing to disregard for the sake of being snarky, is that Tessa has always thrived when given clear, thorough instructions—even when it comes to cooking.   
> -  
> Tessa takes a cooking class and Scott learns a lesson.

“Hello,” Scott’s voice rings out from the front of the house.

Tessa startles, nearly slicing her finger with the chef’s knife but missing by mere centimeters.

“ _Shit_ ,” she mutters to herself.

The kitchen is the last place Scott is going to look for her; she has a little bit of time to cover her tracks. She scoops all of her neatly chopped vegetables into a large bowl and darts over to the refrigerator to hide them inside. Turning back toward the counter, she quickly surveys the area for any other signs of activity. A cutting board and a wide assortment of knives are still scattered across the surface.

She can hear his footsteps approaching and she begins to panic; rather than try to properly put away the evidence, she pushes all of the knives into one pile on top of the cutting board. In an effort to look casual—a genuine effort, but a failed one—she twists around to face the entryway of the kitchen, leaning very, very stiffly against the counter, just as Scott appears.

“Hi,” she tries to sound calm, but her voice comes out sounding completely artificial and about an octave too high. “You’re home early.”

“Yeah, I told the kids to go home early and get some rest. They’re stressing about nationals,” he rubs a hand over his face before moving to sit at the dining room table. Tessa adjusts her position to continue shielding the evidence of her kitchen adventure from his view, which he doesn’t seem to notice, despite how completely unnaturally she is hunched over the counter. “They’re doing great, they have nothing to worry about, but it’s really getting to them. I knew we weren’t going to get anything else done today when they started being passive aggressive to each other. And, on a related note, teenagers are very cruel these days.”

“That sounds familiar,” she sympathizes, because god knows the two of them have hurled their fair share of subtle jabs at each other at the height of every competitive season in the past.

“You’re right,” he nods solemnly. “Enough about my day, how was school?”

“It was good,” she begins to nod enthusiastically but accidentally smacks her head against a cabinet. Instinctively, her hand flies up to rub at her head soothingly. He must see the blades of the knives behind her because a look of concern crosses his face. She relaxes, not seeing any reason to try and hide anything anymore.

“Uh,” he hesitates, his look of concern being replaced with an amused grin as he really processes the scene before him. “What have you been up to?”

“I’m making dinner,” she says plainly, because she’s already been caught and the surprise is ruined anyway.

“Oh,” his smile falls again. “T, if you’re mad at me, I’d rather just talk about it.”

“I’m not mad at you, smartass,” she walks over to the refrigerator and pulls out the bowl of vegetables that she had hidden away so that she can get back to work. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Oh don’t worry, I’m very surprised. Why...”

“I needed one more elective to graduate, so I took a cooking class!” she says, beaming with excitement.

“You _took_?” he raises his eyebrows. “It’s the second week of the semester, they kicked you out already?”

“The class was only two weeks long. They called it an ‘intersession’ course.” she explains. “And for your information, I got an A and the professor adored me.”

“Unsurprising, you _are_ very adorable,” he winks. Tessa rolls her eyes at him but can’t fight the grin that forms in response. “So what are we having?”

“Let me tell you,” she sits down across from him and grabs onto the table as if she has to brace herself. She launches into a description of the meal like she’s a contestant on a Food Network show. “Bourbon glazed salmon. Parmesan and garlic roasted potatoes,” she gestures at her bowl of vegetables as Scott listens in stunned silence. “And an assortment of roasted vegetables.”

“That sounds incredible… and complicated.”

“Kind of,” she shrugs. “Not really.”

He studies her for a moment, seemingly unconvinced.

“I’ll have Postmates on standby.”

“How dare you,” she chucks a cubed piece of zucchini at him, which goes scattering across the floor after he dodges it. She would almost be offended if it weren’t for his playful, teasing tone. “Just wait, you’re going to eat your words.”

“At least I’ll get to eat _something_ tonight.”

“Get out of my kitchen,” she grabs a piece of broccoli from her bowl and holds it up threateningly, and Scott scampers away, chuckling.

-

What Scott absolutely _does_ know, but is clearly choosing to disregard for the sake of being snarky, is that Tessa has always thrived when given clear, thorough instructions—even when it comes to cooking.

She pulls out her recipe card from her class’s final project, complete with a systematically color coded ingredient list and handwritten notes throughout, and begins to work on the salmon.

_Combine brown sugar, garlic, ginger, and all liquid ingredients in a plastic bag, add salmon, and marinate in refrigerator for one hour._

“Perfect. Crushing it. Already did that,” she narrates her thoughts aloud. She removes the plastic bag containing the salmon from its hiding place in the refrigerator and slaps it down on the counter next to the stove.

_Heat one tablespoon of olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat._

She digs through their cabinets, searching for a skillet appropriately sized for two salmon fillets, noting the oven timer signaling that the potatoes and mixed vegetables have ten minutes left. If all goes well, the timing should be nearly perfect.

Noting her own handwritten advice— _heat the pan first, THEN add the oil! It’s ready to go when the oil moves like water_ —she warms the oil until it follows her movements easily when she gives the skillet a swirl.

“ _Nailing_ this.”

Now for the part that makes her nervous: the actual cooking.

_Add fish and marinade to pan and cook for roughly four minutes on each side, or until fish flakes easily when pierced with a fork._

This particular instruction stresses her out because it just has too many _conditions._ “Roughly” four minutes could mean anything from two minutes to… who knows how long? And she’s not sure how “easily” is just the right amount of ease when it comes to the fish flaking. What if her idea of easy isn’t the same as the recipe’s author? There’s too much left to interpretation.

Not to mention, the stakes are higher now. As much as he likes to tease, Tessa knows Scott trusts her abilities and is expecting at least a moderately good product from her. What if she doesn’t cook it right and gives her husband food poisoning?

It’s fine. She did it perfectly in class, and she’ll do it perfectly now.

The gentle sizzle as she adds the salmon fillets to the pan, indicating that the oil is not too hot or too cold, is music to her ears. She pours the marinade in after the fish and watches it simmer, slowly thickening into a sauce. The smell of it, mingling with the scent of the nearly-done vegetables in the oven, is phenomenal; she’s shocked that Scott isn’t lingering nearby, asking how much longer it’s going to take.

She intently watches the meat lighten in color as it cooks, periodically checking the timer set on her phone to ensure that she doesn’t overdo it. After four minutes, she flips the fillets and allows the other side to simmer in the bourbon sauce.

The oven timer goes off and she scrambles to find her oven mitts to pull the sheets of potatoes and vegetables out. As soon as the oven door is open, the aroma of all of the foods mixing together is overpowering; it makes her mouth water, and she feels a sense of pride knowing that _she_ made it all. She places the cookie sheets on top of the cooling racks on the counter very gently, as if she’s afraid that too much movement or force will cause everything to fall apart this late in the game.

She takes a moment to observe her work. The vegetables are beautifully roasted—lightly browned, and, she pierces one broccoli floret with a fork to confirm: perfectly softened. The smaller potato pieces are a tiny bit burnt which, like, _whatever_ , it adds flavor anyway.

The salmon has a minute and a half left before it should be done and she’s decided, just now, that she wants to try something—something she saw her professor do with a chicken breast the first week of class: searing the meat to caramelize the sauce a bit.

She doesn’t have notes on this—she’s only watched her professor do it once. It’s a bit of a risk.

She turns the heat all the way up and keeps a close watch as the liquid in the pan begins to bubble more aggressively.

No smoke. No off-putting smells. So far, so good.

Scott’s footsteps begin approaching behind her and she braces herself for the impending distraction.

“Smells good in h—“

“Sit,” she points to the dining table, her focus on the stove unwavering.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The timer on her phone sounds and she swipes it away, turning the heat on the stove down, but not off completely. She pierces the thicker fillet with a fork and, at least in her opinion, it flakes easily. She flips the pieces of fish over and observes the results of her pan searing; it’s nothing dramatic—she didn’t do it long enough to get dramatic results—but there’s a light crust around the edges. She grins at her handiwork, leaning forward to turn off both the oven and the stove.

Presentation is everything, and she will not disappoint. She pulls two of their “nice” plates, the ones they really only use when they have guests over, from a cabinet and arranges the side items masterfully on the surface. Very gently, to avoid smearing the sauce, she positions each of their salmon fillets on the plates’ open space. Just for art’s sake, she takes a spoonful of the leftover sauce from the pan and drizzles it on the side of the plate in a crescent shape—she thinks she’s seen it on some gourmet cooking show before.

She lets out a long breath. It’s ready.

“Mister Moir,” she turns dramatically toward Scott who is watching her intently, adoration and amusement shining through on his features. “Are you ready for a journey of the senses that will leave you shaken to your very core?”

“To my very core?” he raises his eyebrows, pretending to think deeply about his level of preparedness. “Well, yeah, I guess I’m just as ready as I could ever be for such an experience.”

She picks up both of their plates and places them delicately on the table before taking her seat across from Scott, staring expectantly at him.

“Very artistic,” he muses, pointing at the line of sauce.

“Yes, I _am_ an artist,” she nods, still observing Scott’s expressions as he studies his plate. “Try it.”

He starts exactly where she knew he would, with something simple: the vegetables. They’re simple—all she did was add some garlic, olive oil, and light seasoning and pop them in the oven. They were hard for her to mess up, and they’ll be hard for him not to like.

He loads up his fork like a kabob with a bit of everything—broccoli, cauliflower, zucchini, yellow squash, carrots, and onions—and pulls each item, one-by-one, off of his fork using his teeth, making a show of chewing each item slowly and dramatically, closing his eyes, and letting out the occasional moan.

“Shut up,” she chuckles around her own bite of food, rolling her eyes at his overdramatic display.

“What? I’m sorry I can’t control my response to the _extreme pleasure_ from the best food I’ve ever tasted.”

She scoffs, shaking her head at him. He spears a baby potato and she has to fight back a smirk at the look of pleasant surprise on his face when he bites down easily on the softened, fluffy flesh of the spud.

Scott begins methodically cutting up his salmon with his fork, and Tessa watches as he inspects it, seemingly checking to be sure that it’s thoroughly cooked. She shoots him a glare, and he quickly shovels a piece of fish into his mouth, giving her a childish grin with his mouth full.

“Oh,” he nods slowly, astonishment clear on his face.

“I know,” she replies matter-of-factly, unable to stop the proud smile from spreading across her face. “I told you.”

“But honestly, this is so good. You did a great job, babe, thank you,” he says earnestly, reaching across the table to grab her hand. Tessa draws his hand up to her face to press a light kiss against his fingers in a silent ’thank you’ for the compliment. Their eyes meet and she gives him an almost-shy smile before squirming slightly at the sentimentality of the moment. Scott picks up on her discomfort and breaks the tension with a joke. “How long before the poison hits my system?”

“About fifteen minutes,” she deadpans with no hesitation, rubbing his knuckles gently with her thumb. “Sooner, if I’m lucky.”

“Damn,” he grins playfully, pulling his hand away to get back to work on eating his dinner. “Well, tell my wife I love her.”

She smiles fondly at his words, turning her attention back to her meal.

“She knows.”


	2. february

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s not sure what woke her up—it’s still dark out. And it’s quiet.
> 
> Quieter than it’s been in days.
> 
> Too quiet.  
> -  
> Tessa and Scott add a new member to the family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU to my anonymous friend on curiouscat who gave me a collection of prompts thus inspiring this whole 12-part series, i appreciate you IMMENSELY, especially for this one which was an absolute delight to write!
> 
> without further ado, i give you: "the one when Scott gets a rescue dog and Tessa worries about her very white home."

Tessa blinks awake, eyes adjusting and straining to focus on the steady, repetitive motion of Scott’s chest as he inhales and exhales deeply, still fast asleep.

She’s not sure what woke her up—it’s still dark out. And it’s quiet.

Quieter than it’s been in days.

Too quiet.

Their lives haven’t known such silence ever since Scott had the idea of bringing home a romantic Valentine’s Day gift this year in the form of a tiny, energetic golden retriever mix with floppy ears and a very strong inclination to cause chaos.

-

_Tessa’s phone buzzes, distracting her from her schoolwork. She checks the screen and is surprised to see Scott’s name and image there—she could have sworn she just heard his car pull into the driveway._

_“Hello?” she answers._

_“Don’t be mad.”_

_She peeks out of the window and sure enough, his car is parked in the driveway, and she can see him sitting in the driver’s seat, slouched over the steering wheel._

_Unsure of what’s happening or what to say, she stays silent._

_“I have a surprise,” Scott continues._

_“Okay,” she says tentatively, peering out of the window in an effort to see what Scott may be hiding in the car._

_“Please don’t be mad,” he repeats. “I’m right outside, I’ll be in in a second.”_

_“Okay,” she says again, watching as he pulls the phone away from his ear and gets out of the car._

_Far more curious now, she sets her phone down on the desk in front of her, leaning against the window and straining to get a better view. She lets out a sharp gasp when Scott opens one of the back doors and emerges holding a tiny white dog with golden spots around its face. A feeling of childlike giddiness overcomes her, and she darts out of her study to meet the pair at the door._

_Unfortunately for everyone involved, the distance from Tessa’s study on the second floor of the house to the front door is exactly long enough to give her time to really process the commitment and responsibility that comes with getting a puppy._

_She likes dogs. She really does. And she can tell, even from a distance, that this one is possibly the cutest thing she’s ever seen in her life._

_On the other hand, she also likes having time to prepare for things. She likes going into major commitments, like this one, feeling like she’s ready. And, on a totally different note, she is also quite fond of her and Scott’s very clean, very white furniture and decor._

_She swings the door open to see Scott and the puppy standing directly outside, Scott’s free hand hovering where the doorknob was. The sight of them here, right in front of her, causes the elation to begin creeping back, giving her butterflies in her stomach, and she has to fight to stay level-headed._

_“Scott,” she says, simply and firmly, keeping her voice as calm as possible to avoid making a bad impression on the dog._

_“Tessa,” he grins back at her, repositioning the puppy in his arms so that Tessa can see its face more clearly. The pup lets out a big yawn, and she feels her heart break into a million pieces and get reconstructed within the same beat._

_“Oh my god,” she breathes, before straightening her spine and pointedly focusing on Scott, trying her hardest to block out the precious ball of fur in his arms. “Scott. We should’ve talked about this first.”_

_“I know,” he nods solemnly, absentmindedly rubbing the dog’s neck. “It’s just—I was at the grocery store and there were these kids outside with a box full of puppies, and they couldn’t keep them, they were so upset about it, and it’s so cold, I wanted to—“_

_“What’s its name?”_

_Scott blinks a few times, catching his breath before he answers._

_“They were calling her Victoria.”_

_Tessa wrinkles her nose, studying the pup._

_“‘Hmm. That doesn’t suit her at all,” she reaches out to rub the puppy’s neck, taking a moment to massage her floppy ears. “I guess we’ll just have to find a new name for you, won’t we?”_

_Scott grins, letting out a relieved chuckle and following Tessa into the house after she takes the dog from his arms, cradling her like a baby as she carries her inside._

-

The two days since then have been filled with exactly what the puppy loves most: chaos. Almost instantly, it became clear that the cute, sleepy yawn with which she weaseled her way into Tessa’s heart was completely for show. Tessa doesn’t think the dog ever sleeps—she just pretends to, to keep up appearances, but the reality is that she’s a self-powered machine manufactured solely to make noise and tear things apart, leaving nothing but destruction in her wake. They keep her in their room at night, just to minimize the amount of space that she could potentially turn into a disaster zone.

Any time Tessa doesn’t spend at school or working, and any time Scott doesn’t spend coaching, is now spent with the new puppy, trying to teach her some manners and rein her in as much as possible.

She tries not to take it personally that the dog doesn’t seem to like her very much. She gets it—she doesn’t much care for new people either. But it does hurt a bit seeing her snuggled up with Scott in her rare moments in which she needs to recharge, while half the time she won’t even look Tessa in the eye.

Despite it all, she’s fallen completely in love with her in under 72 hours. She cares for this rambunctious little creature as if she were her own actual child. And she’ll be better behaved with enough work, training, and patience—Tessa knows that she will.

She glances sleepily around the far-too-quiet room, trying to spot the troublemaker, expecting to see her curled up at the foot of Scott’s side of the bed, fast asleep… but she’s not there.

The bedroom door is open. And the dog is now nowhere to be found.

Tessa launches herself out of bed, becoming fully conscious faster than she thinks she ever has before in her life. She crouches down to look under the bed—no dog there. Surveying the room a bit more thoroughly, she still can’t spot her.

Careful to remain as quiet as possible, she steps tentatively into the hall, peering around for any signs of life. Seeing none, she begins checking every room, eventually working her way downstairs.

It’s downstairs, in one of the bathrooms, very conveniently on the tile and not the carpet, that she finds the puppy: tail wagging, white fur smeared with pink, chewing on a tube of Tessa’s lipstick.

The dog startles as Tessa approaches, sitting upright as if nothing was just happening.

“Who did this?” Tessa gestures at the pink mess on the floor.

She receives nothing but a blank stare in response. It’s probably something she should scold the puppy for, but she’s finding it hard to be angry—in this particular case, since none of it got on the carpet or any of the furniture, it won’t be difficult to clean up; plus, the sight of her new dog looking like a little girl who just discovered makeup for the first time definitely ranks in the top ten funniest things Tessa has ever seen.

She’ll let it slide this time.

“It was Scott, wasn’t it?” she jokes, lowering herself onto the floor and laying on her stomach to get on the puppy’s eye level. “You don’t have to protect him, you can tell me if it was Scott.”

She props her head up on her hands, cocking her head to the side. The puppy mimics the movement before standing up and waddling toward Tessa, and Tessa swears she feels her heart stop beating for a second, because this is the first time she’s gotten this close to her since the day Scott brought her home.

In one of the most bold moves Tessa has ever witnessed in her life, the puppy opens her mouth and the half-eaten lipstick tumbles out, landing right in front of Tessa’s elbows.

“Oh,” she can’t help but giggle at the scene as the puppy sits back down, her face inches away from Tessa’s, looking as confident and unbothered as ever. “Don’t tell me _you_ did this.”

The dog cocks her head to the side again and Tessa lets out another giggle.

“Little lady, you’re better than that,” she says in the most stern voice she can muster, which is absolutely not stern at all as the words come out between chuckles. “It’s not even your color, you’re an autumn for sure.”

Her laughter is cut short and replaced with a strong feeling of dread when it dawns on her that the lipstick might be toxic.

“Oh my god,” she mutters, scrambling to her feet. The puppy, seemingly picking up on her change of energy, retreats into the bathroom as Tessa rushes up the stairs to grab her phone out of the bedroom, before coming back downstairs and sitting back on the ground as close to the puppy as she will allow.

It’s the first time she’s checked the time since waking up: 5:07am. She must have been awoken by pure maternal instinct, because she’s certain no external force on earth could wake her up this early.

She scrolls through search results, disappointed to find that no nearby veterinarians are open until 7:00am. A lump forms in her throat, and she can feel tears threatening to form at the thought of what could possibly happen in the two hours between now and then, but she can’t let herself get hysterical.

A bit more scrolling, hoping to get lucky by finding a 24-hour emergency clinic, ultimately ends in disappointment, and she decides to take matters into her own hands. She opens the Google app, and in all caps, so that maybe Google will understand the severity of the situation, she searches: _MY DOG ATE LIPSTICK WHAT DO I DO_

The results, for possibly the first time in the history of Google searches, are very reassuring and make her feel significantly better. Her pulse and breathing slowly make their way back to normal as she reads post after post about how it’s fine, it would take a very large amount of lipstick to have serious effects, and if anything, it might cause some vomiting, but that’s about it.

She breathes a sigh of relief, and yeah, she’s absolutely still going to call the vet in a few hours and make sure she really is fine—and ask for a recommendation for an emergency clinic, just in case—but for now, she just wants to give the puppy a big hug.

“Come here,” she holds her hands out, and to her surprise, the dog comes waddling over to her once more, taking a seat between Tessa’s outstretched hands. It’s probably too much, too soon, but she can’t help but wrap the puppy in a tight hug. “I love you, stupid dog.”

She pulls away, rising to her feet, and yeah, maybe she’s crying a little bit, and yeah, maybe the way that the puppy excitedly jumps up on her legs once she’s standing makes her cry a little bit more, and _yeah_ , this whole situation is going to be their little secret.

She scoops the little dog up in her arms, cradling her, and settles onto the couch with her.

“You’re a punk, you know that?” she coos, adjusting their position so that she’s lying on her back, propped up against the arm of the couch, with the puppy on her stomach.

The dog follows suit, lying down on her stomach on top of Tessa before rolling, ungracefully, onto her side.

Tessa lets out a soft chuckle before pressing a firm kiss to the top of the puppy’s head, patting and rubbing her belly until she falls asleep, and it’s not much longer before Tessa drifts off herself.

-

A camera shutter rouses her from her slumber a few hours later, once it’s actually light outside, and the first image she sees is a very guilty-looking Scott flipping the switch to turn his phone’s ringer off.

“Hey,” she mutters.

“Sorry. Good morning,” Scott says cheerily. He gestures to the sleepy, cuddling pair. “Can I get in on this?”

“No,” Tessa mumbles, pulling the dog closer. “We’re having best friend time.”

“I thought I was your best friend?”

“Mm-mm. Not anymore,” she teases. “There’s only room for one, and it’s the dog now.”

Scott looks genuinely sad for a split second, so Tessa begins very, very slowly and gently lifting herself into an upright position, firmly holding the dog in place to avoid waking her. She pats the newly cleared space next to her for Scott to sit. Scott obliges, throwing an arm around Tessa’s shoulders as he settles, and Tessa leans into him.

Gradually, she loosens her grip on the puppy who, once freed, begins squirming, and Tessa worries that their nice moment is immediately going to be cut short. The puppy, however, simply needed to reposition herself—into the most contorted, uncomfortable-looking sleeping position Tessa has ever seen.

“She’s like a little pretzel,” Scott muses, and Tessa lets out a quiet chuckle.

“Maybe that can be her name,” Tessa suggests after a moment.

“Pretzel?” Scott raises his eyebrows, but is met with nothing but earnestness from Tessa. “Seriously?”

“Maybe,” Tessa shrugs. “She kind of looks like one, if the colors were reversed. Right?”

“I mean, sure,” he reasons. “That’s not really a name, though.”

“Sure it is,” she argues. “I read a book as a kid about a dog named Pretzel.”

“I guess I don’t have any better ideas,” he resigns, reaching out to gently stroke the pup.

“Exactly,” she places her hand on his.

Pretzel shifts in her sleep once more, and Tessa is immediately reminded of the events from just hours before when she gets a good look at her pink-smeared face.

“Uh,” Scott pauses, a look somewhere between concern and amusement crossing his face as he notices the color of their dog’s fur. “Why is she turning pink?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tessa blurts out, shielding Pretzel’s face from his view.

Scott gives her a look that says that he is very much, absolutely, definitely worrying about it.

“Our daughter is an artist,” she jokes, though Scott doesn’t seem impressed by the explanation. “She’s in an experimental phase.”

Scott raises his eyebrows, glancing back and forth between Tessa and Pretzel in silence.

“Everything is… okay, though?”

“Yes,” she reassures him. “Everything is fine. Dr. Google agrees that her creative methods are unusual but ultimately harmless.”

“Alright,” he nods slowly, his concern replaced by curiosity as he studies the pair, trying to piece together what might have happened.

Tessa remains tight-lipped, staring back at him quietly. Her initial feelings of guilt about the situation are quickly fading as she sees now that Pretzel is perfectly fine, but she’s reluctant to retell it just yet. A story for another time, maybe. For now, it’ll be a little secret between the girls.

“I’m hungry,” Tessa says when the silence has gone on for too long, looking at him with pleading eyes. “Can you make pancakes? Please?”

“Sure,” Scott sighs, shaking his head in amusement.

Tessa sits quietly with the dog, stroking her absentmindedly with the sound of Scott stirring in the kitchen providing pleasant white noise, until Scott closes a cabinet a bit too hard and Pretzel jerks awake.

“Oh, baby,” Tessa massages her head slowly. “Did you have a nice nap?”

Pretzel pants quietly in response, blinking slowly at her as she gets her ears rubbed.

Tessa stands, still holding the dog in her arms, and makes her way into the bathroom, where lipstick is still smeared on the floor.

“Let’s get you cleaned up before daddy asks any more questions.”


	3. march

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tessa is not stressed. Tessa is angry. From the looks of it, she is specifically angry at Scott. The problem is that Scott isn’t quite sure what he may have done to earn her ire.  
> -  
> A story about trust and forgiveness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long i meant to post this like a week ago, i had a whole schedule and everything (i was supposed to publish JUNE tomorrow!!! yikes!) but listen. i am slow
> 
> special thanks for this chapter go to kristen bell and betty crocker (and as always idella for beta reading and general encouragement)
> 
> enjoy ❤️

Tessa is not happy.

At first, Scott chalked it up to a tough day at school. With her graduation being three months away, it’s understandable that she comes home feeling stressed more frequently than she used to. He gets it. On days like that, Scott is always able to help her wind down, whether that’s with a nice dinner, a night in watching Netflix, making her feel so good she forgets her own name—he knows how to help her de-stress. Those days, he can handle.

The second she walked in the front door after her night class tonight, greeting Scott with nothing but a piercing glare and a muttered “hey” before slipping her backpack off of her shoulders and sulking away into the living room, it became abundantly clear that this is not one of those days.

Tessa is not stressed. Tessa is angry. From the looks of it, she is specifically angry at Scott. The problem is that Scott isn’t quite sure what he may have done to earn her ire.

Their fights now are nothing like they were when they were skating together, or even when they were just dating. For the first twenty-some years of their relationship, their arguments—or respectfully heated debates, as Tessa prefers to call them—were deeper, more focused on major things like communication or commitment.

Marriage has changed things. They’ve already had and worked through disagreements about every major thing that Scott can think of. Now all that they have left to fuel their _respectfully heated debates_ are smaller things like whether they should keep their tomatoes in the refrigerator (they should, they’ll stay fresher longer that way), what temperature the thermostat should be set to (22°C, they call it ‘room temperature’ for a reason), or whether the dog should be allowed up on the couch (she shouldn’t, and when did he become the strict parent, anyway?).

Scott can’t decide which era of disagreements feels more personal.

It’s been a long time since he’s seen her like this, though. The last time she gave him the cold shoulder was almost a year ago, when he foolishly assumed that the leftovers she hadn’t touched for a week were fair game for him to eat. Even then, the quiet treatment only lasted for about fifteen minutes before Tessa explained why she was upset, why her week-old leftover eggplant parmesan was sacred, and they worked through it. Now, though, this been going on for over an hour with no sign of ending, and Scott is growing increasingly anxious with each passing minute.

It’s like a scene from a horror movie, almost, the way she came inside in a huff, making her way almost immediately into the living room, opening the Netflix application on their TV, as Scott recognized from the familiar drumbeat startup noise, and remaining completely silent with nothing playing on the screen, at least that Scott could hear. She’s still in the same position now, and he wonders if maybe she’s just watching something with the sound off, but he’s almost too scared to look.

Around fifteen minutes after this all began, Scott decided that he was going to extend an olive branch to Tessa in the form of brownies—brownies which he originally intended to make her for Valentine’s Day, before he got distracted by a cute puppy who now alternates between being Tessa’s lapdog and chewing on Scott’s old shoes. Better late than never, he supposes.

He pulls the pan out of the oven now, silencing his timer a few seconds early in an effort to complete the process as quietly as possible. Far too eager to earn Tessa’s forgiveness, he cuts into the brownies immediately, carving out a corner piece—her favorite part—and slaps it onto a paper plate. He scrapes together the pieces that crumble away, not yet fully firm straight out of the oven, and puts them on the plate as well. It’s not a beautiful display, but he thinks—or rather, he _hopes_ —that maybe she’ll find it charming.

He takes a deep breath, clutching the paper plate firmly with both hands, steeling himself for whatever he may be about to face. He makes his way into the living room and Tessa is in exactly the same position she was in when he peeked into the room while the brownies were baking: curled onto the couch, staring straight ahead.

She doesn’t move as he enters the room, gaze still focused on the television, though he knows she must be able to see him in her peripheral vision. She’s making a point of not looking at him, because of course she is, she’s nothing if not one hundred percent dedicated to everything she does.

He approaches her tentatively, stopping next to the arm of the couch. She shifts her position slightly to acknowledge his presence, but stays committed to what she’s doing, keeping her eyes locked straight ahead. Pretzel is curled up next to Tessa’s legs, with Tessa absentmindedly rubbing her ears, and Scott almost wants to tell the dog to get down, but he thinks better of it—one disagreement at a time.

“Hello beautiful,” he says with a tentative grin, presenting the brownie to her. She nods in acknowledgment, holding out a hand, and he places the plate on her palm.

“That’s very nice, thank you,” is what she says with her words, but her body language doesn’t agree—her posture is stiff, her voice cold, and she _still_ isn’t looking at him.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts, his shoulders sagging from the discomfort of the situation, words falling rapidly from his lips in an attempt to get this confrontation over with as quickly as possible so he can atone for what he’s done and his life can go back to normal again. “To be honest, I really don’t know what I did… but I am sorry. Really, very sorry, and if there’s anything I can do to make it better—“

“You don’t know what you did, Scott?” she cuts off his rambling, her eyes finally flickering to meet his for only the briefest of moments. “Why don’t you ask Eleanor.”

“I—“

 _—don’t understand_ , he wants to say, but he’s silenced as the seriousness of what he thinks she’s just accused him of dawns on him.

He would never—he can’t even bring himself to think the words. He would never. Tessa knows that—or, at least, he thought she did. Tessa is his soulmate. She’s the only person for him. He wasted enough of his life on relationships with other women before he figured that out, and now that he has, he doesn’t have any plans to go back to anyone else, to let Tessa go, _ever_.

He just stares at her, dumbfounded, mouth agape, but she’s back to looking at the television and he can’t get a good read on the look in her eyes.

 _Okay, maybe that’s not what she’s trying to say,_ he thinks, rationalizing. It would be a huge accusation to make, and the repercussions for Scott would certainly be far more serious than an hour of mostly-silent treatment. And besides, who is—

The amount of time it takes Scott to realize that he doesn’t even know anybody named Eleanor is almost embarrassing. So, that’s definitely not what Tessa was saying. He could almost cry with relief; nothing Tessa may be upset with him about could possibly be more serious or make him feel worse than the self-inflicted spiral of panic he just had.

But again… who is Eleanor? Scott wracks his brain, thinking back as far as his childhood, and he can’t think of a single person he knows with that name. Not a real person, at least, but there is—

No. That can’t be what this is about.

“Tess, are—“ he turns to fully look at the television, where Tessa’s gaze is still fixed, for the first time all evening, and his theory is all but confirmed. “Is this because I watched _The Good Place_ without you?”

“So you admit it.”

“I mean, yeah, I—“

It takes all of his strength to hold back the relieved laughter threatening to escape him, because Tessa clearly does not think that this is funny just yet, but he can hear the tone of amusement in his voice as the words come out, and he watches as Tessa’s jaw clenches in response.

“Tell me, Scott, does our marriage mean anything to you?”

_Not funny, not funny, don’t laugh, she’s upset, it’s not funny._

“Babe, I’m sorry, you’ve been spending so much time at school and I got bored, I—”

“I’m going to school so that I can support this household—”

“We’re millionaires.”

“—and this is how you show your appreciation?”

She tears her eyes away from the screen to raise her eyebrows at him expectantly, fully looking at him for the first time all night. He could swear that he just saw her lips twitch into something resembling a teasing smirk for a split second before immediately smoothing back out into a straight line—but, maybe it was just a trick of the light; he can’t be sure.

“Imagine my surprise when Rachel from my marketing class asked me which episode I was on, I opened my app to check, and the progress bar was halfway through an episode that I had never seen,” she rants, her eyes burning holes through him, and he almost wishes she would go back to staring at the television.

“I…”

“Just imagine.”

“I’m imagining,” he swallows, faltering under her glare, trying to ignore the way that her eyes are _doing things_ to him because this is not the time. “I’m sorry. Really. I didn’t think to ask because I didn’t think it would be a problem.”

“It is a problem.”

“I can see that now,” he says, and he can tell it comes out with the completely wrong tone because she raises her eyebrows at him, so he changes gears quickly. “Can you help me understand why it’s a problem?”

“It’s hard to explain,” she says slowly. “Like, we’ve watched all of the other episodes together, and experienced them for the first time together, we should do that with all of them, right? It’s our thing.”

“I get it,” he nods. “It’s like a routine. I won’t do it without you again, I promise.”

She seems to consider this for a moment, her gaze softening slightly. She glances down to the brownie in her lap, studying it. It’s still hot.

“Good. And I’ll accept your peace offering,” she says tentatively, picking up a small piece of the sugary confection and blowing on it before popping it into her mouth. “But you’re on thin ice.”

Scott lets out a breath that he barely even noticed he was holding, almost doubling over in relief.

“Are there more?” Tessa asks, gesturing toward the brownie and putting another piece in her mouth, drawing Scott from his celebratory haze.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly. “Yeah, a whole batch.”

“Bring them. Two forks.”

“No dinner?”

“No.”

He won’t argue with that.

He grabs everything from the kitchen, making his way back into the living room cheerfully. He pauses when he gets to the couch; the dog is still next to Tessa, in _his_ spot.

“Pretzel,” he says firmly. The dog lifts her head to give him a goofy look that he swears has a touch of smugness to it.

“She’s staying,” Tessa says, placing a hand on the dog’s back and yeah, he wasn’t sure if dogs could be smug before or if maybe he was just imagining it, but Pretzel has definitely just confirmed it. Tessa gestures with her head for Scott to sit on the other side of Pretzel, and he obliges. He wants to continue to plead his case as to why the dog should not be allowed on the couch—but he’ll save it for some other time when he is not, as Tessa said, _on thin ice_.

“We’re watching the episode now, by the way,” she says, sticking her fork into the pan of brownies and shoving a large bite into her mouth before continuing. “Together. Like we’re supposed to.”

Scott nods sheepishly as Tessa presses play. They watch in silence, occasionally taking bites of their brownies, for just under ten minutes before Tessa gets distracted.

From the corner of his eye, Scott sees her give Pretzel a quick nudge at the base of her tail, and the dog jumps down, scampering off into the other room. Tessa scoots closer to Scott until there’s no space left between them, throwing an arm around his shoulders and draping her legs over his. His pulse quickens as she presses her lips tenderly against the side of his neck.

“Hard day at school?” he gulps, snaking an arm around her waist as she kisses down his neck, working her way to his shoulder.

“So hard,” she whines. “But also—” she punctuates her words by placing a kiss at the center of his chest, “—I just wanna kiss you—” another kiss at the base of his throat, “—because I love you—” then a final kiss at the corner of his mouth, “—okay?”

He won’t argue with that, either, though he is a bit perplexed as to why Tessa made a big deal about him watching the show without her, and now, she’s not paying a bit of attention.

“I love you too,” he plants a firm peck on her lips. “And you’re not watching the show.”

She pouts at that, shifting her position slightly and resting her head on his shoulder with a huff. She turns her attention back toward the television.

It’s only a matter of minutes before she gets restless again.

“Would you be mad if I left you for Kristen Bell?” she turns back toward him, tracing circles absentmindedly on his chest.

“This part is important.”

“Would you?”

“At first, probably,” Scott says with a sigh, giving in to Tessa’s scenario and coming to terms with the fact that he’s definitely going to have to watch this episode for a third time. “But I think she would make you happy, and that’s all I really want for you, so—”

“Oh my god,” she pulls him against her in a tight embrace. “You’re too sweet, I’ll never leave you. Even for Kristen Bell.”

“She is very pretty though, I couldn’t honestly fault you for it if you did,” he mumbles against her neck.

“She’s hot, you can say it, it’s the truth,” she strokes his hair, nuzzling into him.

“I prefer brunettes.”

Tessa lets out a groan at Scott’s comment and he grins. She leans back until her head hits the arm of the couch, pulling Scott along with her, then holds his face between her hands, kissing him harder.

Scott reaches out to fumble for the remote on the coffee table, peeking out of one eye to pause the show in a feeble last-ditch attempt to stop it before Tessa can get too confused about what’s going on in the episode. She tears her lips away from his a few seconds later, looking back and forth between Scott and the television and narrowing her eyes at him.

“Unpause it, I’m listening.”

 _Right_.

Scott obliges, hitting play again, and they resume their session of making out on the couch like a couple of teenagers. She takes a break from licking and sucking at his bottom lip to kiss a wet line along his jaw. Now that his lips are free, Scott takes the opportunity to dig deeper into the Kristen Bell scenario which he is, admittedly, sort of intrigued by.

“We can have a four-way marriage. You, me, her, and what’s-his-name.”

“Dax Shepard,” Tessa mumbles against his skin.

“Dax Shepard, yes.”

She stops kissing him and pushes him away slightly to look him in the eye, seemingly taking this fantasy very seriously.

“I know you’re joking because you don’t know Kristen like I know Kristen, but I really do think she would be down for that.”

“Wait,” Scott pauses, because this tidbit really kind of changes things. “You know her?”

“I mean… I’ve watched a lot of interviews.”

“Oh,” Scott chuckles. “Well if we ever meet them, we can propose it to them.”

A grin spreads across Tessa’s face. She reaches up, tracing the outline of his lips with her thumb. They stay like that—quiet, save for the white noise of the upbeat comedy playing in the background—as they study each other, Tessa with her hands and Scott with his eyes.

It hits him, as she lies beneath him running her fingers over the bridge of his nose, just how beautiful she is. He knows she’s beautiful, has always known it, but it’s like he sees her in a new light day after day, her beauty unfolding before him like a masterpiece full of hidden details waiting to be discovered. Is it possible to fall in love with the same person over and over again every day?

The feeling reminds him of the first time he ever kissed her, at the Ilderton Carnival when they were only kids—the first time he ever remembers thinking that he was maybe, possibly, very in love with Tessa. He had no idea what was to come. Didn’t know about the success they would have, didn’t know she loved him too, didn’t know that a little over two decades later he would be able to kiss her all the time.

He almost wishes he could go back and tell him; maybe he wouldn’t have wasted so much time trying to be happy with anyone other than her. But then, maybe he wouldn’t have as much appreciation for their relationship now. Maybe seeing her smiling up at him, hair fanned out on the couch beneath her, lips swollen from kissing and eyes tired after a long day but still as warm as ever, wouldn’t have the same effect on him that it has now. He doesn’t see how that would even be possible—but, to be safe, he supposes he’ll decline any potential offers to travel back in time, should they come up. It’s not a risk he wants to take.

“This is a lot of eye contact,” Tessa jokes, beginning to squirm under Scott, and he laughs, adjusting his weight so that she can reposition herself. She rolls onto her side and Scott settles in behind her, wedged tightly between Tessa and the couch. It’s not the most comfortable position, but he decides that he doesn’t care because it gives him great access to the spot on her neck that feels like home.

Scott runs his hand down her arm, interlacing their fingers when he gets to her hand. Tessa draws their joined hands up to her face, pressing a light kiss to Scott’s knuckles. She lets out a contented sigh, pulling Scott’s arm tighter around herself as she focuses back on the television.

It’s nice, for a moment. Now Scott is the distracted one, though, burrowing his face into Tessa’s neck and delighting in the feel of her soft skin against his and the faint smell of the floral perfume she put on hours ago. It’s fine for _him_ to be distracted, he thinks, because he’s already seen this. But then, as expected, Tessa realizes that a lot can change in a 23-minute episode if you aren’t watching.

“What’s happening?”

“You should’ve paid attention.”

She lets out a quiet, annoyed huff at Scott’s comment.

“Can we start it over?” She releases Scott’s hand and reaches for the remote, not waiting for a response.

“Will you watch it this time?” Scott asks feebly, knowing that it won’t make a difference as she exits out of the episode, starting it over again from the main menu.

“No promises,” she says, giving Scott’s hand a tight squeeze as the episode begins to play.

She drops the remote, shifting to get more comfortable on the couch, curling into herself. Scott rests his free hand on her hip, massaging her gently.

She’s asleep within minutes.


	4. april

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listennnnn i'm sorry it's been so long and this is all i have to show for it, i truly have nothing to say for myself
> 
> that said, next chapter is a fun one and probably my favorite thing i've written to date so STICK AROUND and I HOPE YOU GET SOME ENJOYMENT OUT OF THIS INSTALLMENT OF SOFT MARRIED CONTENT <3
> 
> (also as a side note, i am a Simple City Folk so please do not drag me if there are any drastically incorrect gardening facts/concepts here, i did my research but i'm still just a Simple City Folk!)
> 
> (THANKS as always to idella for beta reading and also for the general support and friendship ilyvm)
> 
> (i'll stop talking now)

Tessa gasps sharply, clutching Scott’s arm. He scrambles to get a good grip on their cart as she pulls him with her across the aisle toward an assortment of brightly-colored potted flowers.

“These,” she beams, gesturing toward—Scott thinks he recognizes them, but he checks the labels to be sure—the carnations.

“For the front?”

“Yes. By the porch,” she nods, still grinning excitedly as she takes stock of the assortment of colors. “Some vegetables in the back, I think.”

“Ambitious!” Scott raises his eyebrows at her playfully, but Tessa is still too enraptured by the flowers to notice.

He watches her fondly as she methodically chooses which carnations she wants, placing the red and white blooms—very patriotic, Scott thinks—very delicately into their cart. As is always the case when it comes to Tessa, especially when she finds a new interest, Scott’s heart swells with love at the enthusiasm he can feel radiating off of her. She carefully inspects each plant, selecting several with big, healthy flowers already on them, as well as a few that only have tightly closed buds.

(“So we can watch them bloom and that’s how we’ll know that we’re taking good care of them,” she mumbles quietly, mostly to herself, but Scott overhears.)

She throws a few pink ones in against the red and white, for good measure. Scott taps his finger gently against a particularly healthy-looking pink carnation, and his grin widens as Tessa’s face lights up. She nods rapidly as she gathers it and puts it into the cart amongst its future gardenmates.

Tessa lets out a quiet huff as she takes a step back, observing their cart which is now teeming with flowers. She nods slowly to herself, envisioning how everything will look in the flowerbed by the front porch. She begins to glance slowly between their cart and the flowers still remaining on the shelf and Scott has to stop her because he knows she’ll never know when to stop.

“Let’s go get our vegetables for the backyard, eh?”

She tears her eyes away from the plants to look at him and gives him a quick nod, following after him after not-so-slyly sneaking one last pink carnation into the cart. She links her arm through his, resting her head lightly against his shoulder as they walk out of the floral section and toward the fruits and vegetables, albeit slowly and with a lot of distractions from other pretty flowers along the way.

“I’ve done a lot of research,” she babbles absentmindedly as they weave through the aisles, and of course she has, Scott wouldn’t expect anything less. “I think the timing is right this time. I think we’re going to have a happy little garden. I hope we will.”

This is their third spring living together, and the second spring that Tessa has found herself bitten by the gardening bug. After last year’s catastrophic failure following an unexpected frost just over a week after they planted everything, effectively killing everything in their garden, they’re determined to make sure that everything they plant flourishes this time.

They’ve learned from their mistake. They ignored their initial impulse to start planting back in March, and it’s lucky they did, because the first weekend of April saw half an inch of snow—an insignificant amount, really, but just enough that it surely would’ve hurt their plants. The local climate seems to have finally stabilized for the spring now, though, and it’s unlikely that last year’s frost situation will be repeated. At least, god, Scott hopes it won’t be, because if he ever has to see the look of sadness on Tessa’s face again as they leave the house and she watches her flowers turn brown and wilt away before they even got a chance to live, his heart might actually break in two.

“Ooh,” Tessa stops in her tracks, lifting her head from his shoulder and studying a leafy plant with little white flowers and pale green buds on it before turning back to face Scott, wide-eyed. “Strawberries.”

“That’s not a vegetable,” he says quietly, and then, when she continues staring at him, her expression unwavering: “Cool, let’s get strawberries.”

“And blackberries and raspberries,” she smiles sweetly.

“Can we grow some bell peppers too?”

“ _Yes_.” Tessa’s eyes somehow widen even more and Scott can’t hold back the chuckle that escapes him at the very contagious sight of her excitement.

“And some zucchini?” He grins widely as Tessa nods, visibly excited that Scott is getting more into this. “And the yellow squash—”

“Summer squash.”

“—and then that should probably be all, at least for now, yeah?”

“You’re probably right,” she agrees, but pouts a bit.

“Hey,” he gives her a light nudge, noting the disappointment in her tone. “We can do more next year, once we really know what we’re doing. Plus, there’s like, a whole other planting season in the fall.”

“Pumpkins?” she asks hopefully.

“Peonies,” he offers, and he laughs as her jaw drops. Peonies are Tessa’s favorites. “We can grow ourselves a whole farm in the backyard, if you want.”

“Yeehaw,” she says quietly, grinning at the image.

“Yeehaw,” he nods back at her, taking her hand and giving her knuckles a light rub with his thumb.

She squeezes his hand back before switching her hands so that she can use her right hand to thumb through some of the seed packets, scoping out their options. A look of concern crosses her face as she reads the packaging.

“This is gonna take such a long time.”

“We can get the starter plants. Like those strawberries,” he gestures back toward the already-budding plant that caught her eye just minutes before. “Saves us some time and effort.”

“We could,” she hesitates, her face scrunching up with uncertainty at the thought of taking the easy route for anything, ever, in her life.

Then, her face changes, softens a bit, and Scott knows exactly what she’s thinking. She’s envisioning their garden, lush with berries and vegetables after just a few short weeks. She’ll pluck a few raspberries from their bush, placing them on the tips of her fingers in the way that always used to make Scott laugh when they were kids. She’ll smile fondly, admiring her fruity manicure for a moment, before popping the berries one-by-one into her mouth, germs and pesticides be damned, because she’s an earth goddess completely untouched by diseases of the natural world. Her eyes will flutter shut as the sweet, tart juice of the berries coats her mouth.

“Yeah,” Tessa nods quietly, slowly breaking both of them out of their shared reverie. “Let’s get the starter plants.”

Scott returns her nod and they divide and conquer with Tessa going for the berries and Scott picking out the most healthy-looking vegetable plants. It’s as he scans the aisle, observing the assortment of small tree-like bell pepper plants, that he finally, fully understands Tessa’s excitement. Sure, he’s been excited on her behalf all morning. It’s always a delight to see her happy and passionate about something, no matter what that may be. But now, Scott can’t help but have his own daydream about their lush garden, about their fresh vegetables, about family dinner parties with all of their homegrown produce proudly featured in the dishes. Suddenly, he regrets limiting their selection to the small assortment of items that they’ve already agreed upon—but it’s probably for the best that they don’t bite off more than they can chew right off the bat.

Scott selects a few of each type of vegetable that they’d agreed upon and makes his way back toward Tessa. When he finds her, she’s placing her last few berry selections into the cart and staring fondly at her choices. He approaches her with an excited smile, which she mirrors as she meets his gaze.

“Ready?” Scott asks, tenderly placing his plants next to Tessa’s. She nods, and they begin making their way through the aisles toward the checkout counter. A small, spiky green plant catches Scott’s eye along the way. He stops to admire the plant, and Tessa smiles at him as he appears to have a mental debate with himself about whether to add the plant to their growing collection.

“The only thing limiting us is ourselves, you know.”

Scott’s train of thought is derailed by Tessa’s words. He turns to look at her, and she gives him a small nudge. With a small sigh, he adds the spiky plant to their cart.

“We have to get out of here.”

—

Scott dumps their wheelbarrow full of topsoil into the flower bed next to the porch, with Tessa’s supervision, guiding him on which areas needed more soil than the others.

Once all of the soil has been emptied, Scott lets out an exhausted huff, wiping at the sweat on his forehead with the only clean part left of his forearm. He’s filthy—they both are—and he forgot how exhausting all of this can be. Even Tessa, who was so enthusiastic this morning, seems to be losing steam—and they haven’t even planted anything yet.

Tessa sinks down onto the grass next to the flowerbed, turning to Scott and patting the ground next to her. He obliges, taking a seat next to her and throwing an arm around her as she sags into his side.

“The hard part is done,” he reassures her. And it’s true—mixing the soil and getting the area ready for the plants is by far the most labor-intensive part of the whole process. The actual planting will be a breeze at this point, Scott thinks.

“Good,” Tessa sighs, rubbing at a thick patch of dirt on the back of her hand. “If it even gets close to freezing again and these plants die, I am going to lose it.”

“Don’t tempt the fates,” Scott warns. “Everything will be great. I’m telling you, we’ll be the envy of the entire neighborhood.”

“I hope so,” she mumbles.

They sit, still and quiet, recharging their energy, for several minutes. Tessa fixes her gaze on a pair of birds across the yard, watching as they dance around each other, chirping melodically. It occurs to her that she’s probably witnessing a mating ritual and she very suddenly feels like she’s intruding on something private.

Just as she begins to look away, she notices Pretzel very ungracefully barreling across the lawn toward the birds. They scatter, flapping away in fear as Pretzel stops in her tracks, looking quite dejected at the loss of her would-be new friends.

Scott lets out a silent chuckle, the movement shaking Tessa against him. She grins to herself, thankful that he witnessed the event as well, and nuzzles further into his side. She inhales his scent deeply before drawing away from him to run her hand across the soil, raking through it with her fingers. She gathers some of it in her hand, studying it for a moment before slowly, gently dropping it on top of Scott’s head.

“Really, Virtch?” He jumps in surprise as her hand makes contact with the top of his head, the dirt spreading quickly through his hair.

Tessa giggles quietly in response. Her giggle turns into a shriek as Scott shakes his head, sending the soil flying through the air. He shivers as some of it falls into his shirt and down his back, cold against his skin.

A small speck of dirt lands on Tessa’s cheekbone and sticks to her skin there like a beauty mark, staying put as she shakes with laughter. Scott has to fight his instinct to reach out and brush it away—his filthy hands would only make it worse—but it’s fine. Endearing, even. He’ll leave it.

“Immature,” he grins back at her, swiping his dirty thumb across her exposed collarbone and leaving a faint mark there.

She lets out an exaggerated gasp, wiping at her chest in an effort to remove the mark, but only adds more to it with her own dirt-covered hands.

 _What the hell_ , he thinks to himself, brushing his hand across her cheek and replacing the ‘beauty mark’ with a trail of dirt all the way down the side of her face.

“Are you going to explain this to my dermatologist?” she deadpans, though a wide grin is still plastered on her face.

“I’ll tell her we got dirty,” he winks, and she wrinkles her nose as he pulls her hand toward his face to kiss it, making direct contact with her grimy knuckles.

She lets out a quiet chuckle as she pulls her hand away from him. “Let’s get back to work.”

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed!
> 
> i am on [twitter](https://twitter.com/tessavirtch) and [tumblr](https://tessa-virtch.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to be pals!
> 
> comments, kudos, and constructive criticism are highly appreciated ♡


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